


Nearing the End

by politic_x



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 13:51:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11922237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politic_x/pseuds/politic_x
Summary: A love letter





	Nearing the End

**Author's Note:**

> When some of my fanfic was automatically imported from another site, it prompted me to go searching for all my old stuff. I found some old XF stories I hadn't seen in a couple of decades, including this one from 1999ish.

I think it was Frohike who once said that if you lived to be seventy - and if he were around to witness it - he'd spend the rest of his days as a monk, contemplating miracles. I hope that the thought of him in a tunic brings a smile to your face.

Happy birthday, Mulder.

Call me old-fashioned, but I wanted you to have something from me to open, even if it's just a letter. I rarely write these days, except in my journal. That alone tires me.

I am settling in quite well, considering the circumstances. I didn't know what to expect; no one wants assisted living, even when it becomes necessary. But you were right to suggest this place; my suite is lovely. 

I wonder how you are. The fact that you haven't visited caused me a bout of insomnia last night. Will you be able to face me knowing that my health is rapidly deteriorating?

I'm fine today, but the number of bad days I have has escalated since you last saw me. I can't describe to you what it's like to lose control. On good days I am forgetful, misplacing my pencil or glasses. On bad days I simply forget. I forget telephone numbers and I forget appointments. It will only get worse. Soon, I will forget people.

I need for you to promise me that you won't visit on those days.

As necessary as I feel it is to prepare you for the road ahead, I also need for you to understand where I am now. When I'm not depressed, I'm angry. I wasn't supposed to get this disease. I blame it on the microchip that was in my neck for twelve years. Alzheimer's isn't prevalent in my family; I'm too young; I haven't been leading a sedentary lifestyle... The list goes on, but my point is that I can't accept dying this way. 

I think I'd rather die from a gunshot wound, fast and furious. Even cancer would be preferable. I can almost reconcile myself to the physical debilitation, but I can't live without my memories, Mulder. They are all that I feel I have sometimes. Some of the best memories give me peace. 

When I was lying in bed last night, worrying over my decision to move here, I thought about my fortieth birthday. You took me to dinner and we talked a lot. I think we must have talked as much as we drank. When the waiter brought the cake to our table, you suggested that I make a wish before blowing out the candles. The fact that one candle remained lit after I'd made my wish disappointed you. Do you remember?

You grabbed my hands and held them in a melodramatic gesture that sent me into a fit of giggles. I suppose that I was more than a bit drunk, because when you squeezed your eyes shut and blew out the last candle, I practically fell out of my chair. Do you recall how vehemently you blew on that candle? I don't know that I've ever laughed so hard in my life. But when you told me what you had wished for, I was incredibly touched. Your words should have sent me laughing again, but I could only swallow the lump in my throat and listen. 

"I wished for us to grow old together," you said. Then you launched into a very imaginative tale of the two of us, nearing the end of our lives, residing at a nursing home. We'd sit in rockers on the veranda, you said. We'd tell war stories about aliens and implants, clones and colonization, that would scare all of the vets. I'd slip notes beneath your door and you'd tape an X in your window. We'd arrange "clandestine" meetings in full sight of our housemates. You'd pick someone everyday to harass with interrogation and I'd discuss autopsies at the breakfast table. We'd live loud and large. We would not go down quietly.

So, when I arrived on Tuesday, I unpacked my bags and boxes and had the movers arrange my furniture. I attended orientation and listened to gossip during dinner. I learned that there's a spooky man who lives here. He shapes his mashed potatoes into flying saucers. He has a poster of a UFO on his door. It is rumored that he frightened the former occupant of my suite into leaving. This man, who refuses to acknowledge anyone who calls him by his first name, lives in 370.

On Wednesday morning, I looked out of my window at the courtyard, then at the wing of the building across from my suite. I counted rooms and windows and walked up and down hallways. I found that number 370 is directly opposite me. When I returned to my window, I placed a chair there. I sat and watched and waited.

I know why you came here, Mulder. You don't belong in a nursing home; you are as active and healthy as you were twenty years ago. You came here to pave the way for me. You came here because you are a man whose heart is full of love. 

I wish I could return that love as beautifully as it has been given, but I'm not good with words. I never have been. I've relied on action over the years, trying to show how I feel. And so I have tried to show you again, by following you here.

I opened my curtains this morning to stare again at 370. I saw a masking tape X in the window. Home, I think, is wherever you are.

I hope this letter is the first of many that I slide under your door. We are growing old together. May the miracles never end.

 

Scully

P.S.

If you look out of your window this evening at seven o'clock, you'll see a strange glow emanating from my room. It's your cake, Mulder, but please don't blow out all of the candles. Save one for me.

 

\------------  
The End,  
"Nearing the End"  
by Politic X  
\------------

 

Author's notes: This story was written in response to a Scullyfic challenge. The requirements were: "Your writing challenge is to compose a love letter from one XF character to another (any characters you choose). It can be whimsical or sweet or angsty -- whatever you'd like -- but your goal should be to make the letter sound as in-character as you can."


End file.
